Percy Jackson and the 2nd Gen Avengers: The Lightning Thief
by I-Have-Lost-THE-GAME
Summary: It's the Lightning Thief with a twist!


Author's Note: This is Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief...with the children of the Avengers as characters instead of Percy Jackson and the others. I came up with this late one night while talking to a friend, so if the plot is crappy...blame sleepless me. A lot of the events are based off real-life events that happened to me and my friend, Jason (not Grace) so...yeah.

Disclaimer: I don't own P.J.O. and the Avengers.

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><p>THE LIGHTNING THIEF<p>

1| I Accidentally Vaporize My English Teacher

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood...or a sort-of criminal...or what I am right now, really.

It's quite a laugh. My parents are in the Avengers, they also work for an organization called S.H.I.E.L.D...and their daughter? A thief. A stubborn, menace to society. A kid expelled from too many schools to count because of violence.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one - a half-blood that is, or if you think you're anything like me, my advice is: close this book right now.

Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.

Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways.

If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.

But if you recognize yourself in these pages, if you feel something stirring inside, stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Contessa Persephone Barton.

I'm twelve years old. Until a few months ago, I was a boarding student at the University of Saint John, a private school for troubled kids somewhere in Manhattan.

Am I a troubled kid?

Yeah. You could say that.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth grade class took a field trip. Forty-five mental case kids and two teachers on a rented green bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff. I know it sounds like torture. Most Saint John field trips were. But Sir Ross, our Trigonometry teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes. Sir Ross was this middle aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning, already white hair and a frayed wool jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep. I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble.

Boy, was I wrong.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like in my fourth grade school, when we went to the Museum of National History, I had this accident with a 500-something-year-old bell. It's not like I wanted it to fall off the roof of the already-decaying house and on a classmate, but of course I got expelled anyway. And before that, at my third grade school, when we took a behind the scenes tour of a local Ocean Park, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class was swimming with the fishes...literally. And the time before that... Well, you get the idea.

This trip, I was determined to be good.

All the way to the Museum, I put up with Gus Agustin, the too-pale, too-innocent-looking bully hitting my best friend Elle in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter and ketchup sandwich.

Elle seemed like an easy target. She was small. And although she was really smart, no one took notice of her. On top of all that, she was fast. Too fast. She walked funny, like every slow step hurt her, but don't let that fool you. You should see her try to get out of bed on Mondays.

Anyway, Gus was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in her wiry brown hair, and he knew I couldn't do anything back to him because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

"I'm going to kill him," I mumbled.

Ever the peace-maker, Elle tried to calm me down. "It's okay. I like peanut butter."

She dodged another piece of Gus' lunch.

"That's it." I started to get up, but Elle pulled me back to my seat.

"You're already on probation," she reminded me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."

Looking back on it, I wish I'd decked Gus Agustin right then and there. In school suspension would've been nothing compared to the mess I was about to get myself into.

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><p>Sir Ross led the museum tour.<p>

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black and orange pottery. It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years.

He gathered us around a thirteen foot tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and started

telling us how it was a grave marker, _a stele_, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Miss Kristina, would give me the evil eye.

Miss Kristina was this large English teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was nearly fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Saint John halfway through the year, when our last English teacher had a nervous breakdown. From her first day, Miss Kristina loved Gus and figured I was devil spawn. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Elle I didn't think Miss Kristina was human. Se looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

Sir kept talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Gus snickered something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turned around and said, "Will you shut up?"

It came out louder than I meant it to.

The whole group laughed. Sir Ross stopped his story. "Miss Barton," he said, "did you have a comment?" My face was totally red. I said, "No, sir."

From the corner of my eye, I could see Gus and Miss Kristina laughing together at my embarrassment. I was so going to kill them later.

[To be continued...]

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><p>Author's Note: There was this part of me that wanted to change the characters' ages to somewhere around my age, but then I remembered that me and Jason met when we were twelve sort of like Percy, Annabeth and Grover. Also, Kristina is based off our actual English teacher. Our school is really a university named after a saint and the students are pretty much troubled. I put the school in Manhattan because that's where the Avengers battled Loki. The mess ups that happened on the field trips really did happen (except for the magic-ish parts). There were forty-five students because that's how much we are in a class. "Sir Ross" is our Trigonometry teacher and I absolutely love him. Elle and Gus are also based on real people.<p> 


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